The sun had not yet risen when Dattadevi stepped into the narrow alley of clay-tiled houses, her veil drawn low and her walk steady. The village lay quiet, touched by dawn, except for one home — the small hut of Vaidyaji, its courtyard fragrant with tulsi and burning wood.
He was already waiting.
"You walk with royal steps, even when you hide your anklets," the old man said, not looking up from his copper vessel.
"And you heal with holy hands, yet let poison pass under your door," she replied.
The words hung in the air between them like incense smoke. Vaidyaji finally turned, eyes old but unafraid.
"I left the palace when I could no longer protect it. What was in your brother's medicine was not mine."
He unrolled a palm-leaf scroll and pointed at two symbols — similar in name, different in root.
"The herbs were switched. Someone wanted him weak, not dead. A slow ruin. bhallataka plant. Bhallataka, also known as Semecarpus anacardium or marking nut, is a medium-sized, deciduous tree with medicinal properties, particularly in Ayurveda. It's known for its irritant properties and potential toxicity especially from its seeds, but when purified, it's used to treat various ailments. But clearly it is not purified."
"And who can cure him now?" Dattadevi asked, her voice steady but low.
Vaidyaji handed her a cloth scrap with a name and location.
"A hermit near the Saraswati bend. He treats with silence and salt. Go only at dusk.
"Do you know who did it?"
"If I did," Vaidyaji said, "your brother would already be safe."
He gave her a small cloth with a scribbled mark.
"This leads to a healer near Saraswati's curve. He sees no one, but he owes me a favor. Go before night."
___________________
She left before the sun had risen fully, following the narrow path along cracked earth and dry reeds. Birds called above, and distant cowbells rang from the next village.
But something felt wrong.
She slowed her steps. The wind had dropped. Even the trees were still.
Then she saw it — too late.
Three men. Standing among the dry grass. Waiting.
Their faces were covered, their swords drawn. One stood ahead. Two flanked behind.
Her hand dropped to the dagger hidden beneath her scarf.
"You don't belong here, girl," the first man sneered.
"Neither do you," she replied coldly.
They rushed her at once.
She ducked the first blade and slashed upward — catching one man across the thigh. He fell with a grunt. She turned swiftly, parrying the next with her forearm, and kicked him back with her heel.
But as she turned again — her wound pulled.
A sharp pain tore through her side.
Blood. Hot and sudden.
She staggered. One of the attackers grabbed her wrist.
She gritted her teeth and rammed her elbow into his jaw.
He fell — but so did she.
Her knees hit the dust hard. The world swayed. Her side throbbed, bleeding again through the bandage.
The last man came toward her, sword raised.
She could barely lift her arm.
I will not die like this, she thought. Not here.
But her vision darkened. Her fingers trembled.
Then — a strange sound.
A single, sharp flute note.
She blinked, dazed.
A shadow stepped between her and the attacker.
There was no sound of approach — just the flash of steel.
The attacker's blade was knocked away. A second swing disarmed him completely. Then a strike to the leg dropped him to the ground.
And now — only one man stood.
Tall. Calm. Dust on his clothes. Sword still gleaming.
______________________
He turned, just enough that she could see his face.
His eyes — calm, alert, dark gold in the morning light.
He walked to her, sheathing his sword.
"Are you alive?" he asked gently.
"Barely," she murmured, half-leaning against a tree.
He dropped beside her and saw the blood soaking through her side.
"This is deep," he said. "You shouldn't have been walking."
"I wasn't walking," she muttered. "I was winning."
He smiled, brief and quiet.
"Then I'm honored to meet the warrior who almost bled to death proving a point."
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Following a rumor," he said. "Didn't expect to find it bleeding in the grass."
He took a long scarf from around his neck and tore it gently. She didn't resist as he pressed the fabric to her side, holding it firm.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"What's yours?"
He looked at her — not smiling now.
"Strangers don't always stay strangers."
"And some names should stay unsaid," she replied.
He helped her sit up. Their faces were close now. Her hair clung to her brow, black as ink. Her deer-like eyes, wide and tired, stared straight into his. There was something about her stillness — even wounded, she didn't shrink. She didn't flinch.
"I'll walk you back," he said.
"I'll find my way."
"Not in this state."
"Then turn your back and pretend I vanished."
He hesitated.
Then did exactly that.
She rose slowly, clutching her side, and walked into the morning mist.
He stood alone, staring at the path long after she had gone.
"She hides her name," he whispered, "but not her fire."
_____________________
Back at the palace, Veerkund stood tall in the royal court.
"Your daughter left the palace without word," he said. "She walks among strangers. What else is she hiding?"
King Ganapati Naga said nothing at first. His face was hard, thoughtful. His eyes, though older, were still sharp.
"Dattadevi?"
She stood before him, her veil low, hiding her pale face.
"I went to find a cure. My brother lies dying."
"You should have spoken."
"To whom? The man who claims to care, or the ones who poisoned him?"
The court murmured.
Before anyone could speak, Queen Sharvani stepped forward.
"I gave her this," she said, holding out the small pendant necklace. "No child who carries the gods walks without purpose."
The king looked from his queen to his daughter — and said nothing more.
Veerkund bowed stiffly, but his eyes narrowed.
______________
Later that evening, in the privacy of her chamber, Dattadevi's body finally gave in.
She sat on the floor, leaning against the low bed. Her hand trembled as she touched her side.
Rajima rushed to her, tears threatening.
"You promised me you'd be careful."
"I was."
"You're bleeding through your words."
The door opened.
Queen Sharvani entered quietly, her sari soft, her face lined with worry.
She sat beside her daughter and brushed her hair back with gentle fingers.
"I saw you last night," she said. "Before you left."
Dattadevi blinked.
"Then why didn't you stop me?"
"Because I saw the fire in your eyes. And I've never known fire to wait for permission."
Together, they cleaned her wound.
Rajima fetched warm water. The queen tied the fresh bandage with her own hands.
And when it was done, she placed a soft kiss on Dattadevi's forehead.
"Rest now, my girl," she whispered. "For tomorrow, the battle will wear a different face."